


Less of an Idiot

by indigospacehopper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Happy, Holiday, Holidays, I got bored so I wrote this, M/M, beach, it's nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:31:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigospacehopper/pseuds/indigospacehopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We're all a bit idiotic, but you're less of an idiot than most.”</p>
<p>After finding out that Sherlock hadn't been on a proper holiday in almost 7 years, John decides to take him to Torquay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Less of an Idiot

"Call me cynical, but I think we may have gone the wrong way." 

"You're hardly being cynical. There's no way we'll be able to make our way out of here anyway without 3G, even if we hadn't taken a wrong turn. I'm blaming you for that, by the way." Sherlock pointed an accusing finger at John, who just shrugged it off. 

"You're the one with the brain the size of a planet. You must've noticed when we first started that we were heading in the wrong direction." 

"I don't have a map of every single forest in my head, John. I know a lot but I don't know everything. How was I supposed to know that you'd gotten us lost? I thought you said you'd been here before." 

The two stumbled through the thicket of trees. Moss grew in great green clumps on lichen laden boulders, and the sun shone through the tufts of green leaves where it cascaded down to where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson strode through the forest bickering with one another. 

"I have been here before... When I was about five." John admitted as a twig snapped beneath his foot. He hopped easily across a narrow brook, and came to land swiftly on the other side. The small feature of sparklingly clear water was scattered with small rounded pebbles, and although it held no great depth, John didn't particularly fancy going swimming. 

"So you don't know where we are?" Sherlock queried, following John across the brook and stepping carefully over a fallen log.

"Nope." John shook his head, smirking as he navigated his way around a nasty thicket of brambles. "Anyway, this is fun. You need the fresh air as it is. Whenever you're case-less you always end up looking like you're severely vitamin D deficient. This is good for you." Behind him, John heard Sherlock mumble something about someone being a stupid doctor. That just made John's smirk broaden. "Let's stop and try and work out where we are." John suggested and Sherlock nodded quickly, before perching himself on a large rock.

"We need to ask someone for directions." Sherlock said as John plonked himself down next to him. 

"Wait, you're actually going to ask someone? Does this mean that you actually need help with something?" John teased, grinning widely at the thoughtful detective. Sherlock shook his head. 

"No, I'm merely clearing up your mess. I decided to follow your lead for once and now we're lost. If it were the other way around we'd be back in that little café eating more scones by now." Sherlock scowled at the thought of the scones. John loved them, as did he, but he couldn't find the obsession that brought so many tourists to Devon pining over clotted cream and strawberry jam. If he craved a scone that desperately he'd just ask Mrs Hudson to pop to the local shop. It wasn't worth travelling two hundred and fifteen miles just for one measly cake. But the café where they'd stopped before their walk had done some superb ones, he had to admit. 

"Don't be so miserable. This is fun." John stretched, inhaling all the smells that the forest had to offer. He'd never tire of the cleansing scent that always came with fresh air, especially given how polluted it was in London.

"You have odd ideas as to what constitutes as fun." Sherlock muttered, picking at one of the moss clumps next to his leg. 

"I'm not the one who takes a riding crop to the mortuary." John quipped, earning a half derisive snort, half laugh from Sherlock.

"Not all the time." Sherlock defended himself, though his lips had curled upwards all the same. The two sat in silence for a while, allowing their senses to become one with the forest. 

The cause of their trip out of London had come about when John had discovered that Sherlock hadn't been on holiday for roughly seven years. He'd been abroad on cases since his 'holiday' to Majorca with his parents, but besides that he hadn't really ventured away from London for his own enjoyment. John decided that he needed to do something about that, and promptly booked a trip to Torquay. He felt like being a bit more adventurous and getting on a flight somewhere, but he felt that their first relaxing holiday together wouldn't exactly be relaxing if Sherlock decided to lose his passport. He was essentially a big kid after all. 

Torquay wasn't his first option, however. He'd scoured the British Isles for a suitable destination, before finally settling in Devon. It had been risky, John had to admit. He would have been impressed by Sherlock's keen determination to even venture into this National Park, after all, it had played host to the wondrous 'The Hounds of Baskerville' case, as he'd so dubbed it on his blog. However, he also knew that Sherlock just wanted to show off a little bit at just how brave he was by venturing into the same place that had almost made him wet himself.

As such, they'd decided to explore a different area of the forest. A nicer one, closer to the main tourist area and further away from Baskerville. John had been there before, but as he discussed with Sherlock he was only five years old, and it was hardly his fault that the man had been too stubborn to buy a leaflet or a map. John hadn't said he was a sufficient guide, but Sherlock had just presumed that he'd know exactly where he was going. Which was how they ended up sitting on a rocking, basking in the speckled sunlight and very lost. 

John checked his watch. 

“Shit. It's going to get dark soon. I don't fancy this place at night time. Do you?” Sherlock shook his head, pushing himself off the rock and wiping away the moss that clung to his bum. “I'm thinking head back, grab fish and chips, bottle of wine and beach?”

Sherlock shrugged, but John knew that he liked the idea more than he was letting on. They'd been staying in a small villa-caravan type thing, the signal was rubbish and the channels on the TV were rubbish, but it was just a short walk from the beach and was excellent for fires. 

The two traipsed through the forest, eventually stumbling upon a winding path, earning a “I told you it was this way!” from Sherlock, even though John was the one who had initially suggested going in that direction. 

Once back in the main tourist bit, John scoured the gift shop in a vain attempt to find something for Mrs Hudson while Sherlock ambled off to go and pay for the car park. As John was paying, he heard the beep of a horn, telling him that Sherlock was waiting and was bored. 

“What'd you get her?” Sherlock asked, the moment John had sat down.

“Post-card.” John waved the shiny A6 piece of card in front of him. On the front was a depiction of a great rolling countryside and a small piece taken from what was apparently a local newspaper about when he and Sherlock unravelled a horror-story. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, she'll like it.”  
“It's a bit tacky.” Sherlock put in, taking it from John and surveying it while they waited at a traffic light. 

“You can choose the next one then.”

“I will. And I bet you £10 she likes it more than this rubbish.”

John smirked. “You're on.”

–

It was quite a sight to see, really. Sherlock Holmes carrying a picnic blanket and wearing a thick jumper. He'd absolutely refused to take his Belstaff on the beach for fear of getting sand in the pockets. He was also sporting sandals and sunglasses. John had to smirk, and reminded himself to take a picture for Molly.

He, on the other hand, was carrying two plastic bags. One containing fish and chips, while the other contained wine and two plastic wine-glasses that they'd nicked from the shallot. They were both relieved to find the beach devoid of children and their parents. John had been surprised when Sherlock had stated he found the parents more intolerable than the children.

“Children are great. I have nothing against children. It's when they become adults that they become imbeciles.” He had said. John didn't have the heart to tell him that he too was once a child, and decided to let it drop.

They found their spot, and Sherlock laid out the picnic blanket while John fumbled with the fish, chips and wine. Eventually, they deposited themselves and settled down to their meal.

Behind them, large sand dunes towered over them while in front lay a very still land of blue. The sand was still relatively warm, but the breeze had picked up and soon the pair of them had huddled together, both on their second glass of wine and burying their feet in the sand to keep them warm. The fish and chips were long gone. 

“Why do people always say that the sea is blue?” John asked.

“Hm?”

“The sea. It's not blue. It's clear. And grey. It's not blue.”

“It's not blue here.” Sherlock pointed out, straightening himself up and supporting himself on his arms. “It gets it's colour from the sky. Blue sky means blue sea. Cloudy sky means grey sea. That's only if we're talking about a clean sea though. This bit we're looking out now should be clear, but you also get the swash and the backwash which pulls up debris so that makes it murkier. There aren't any big waves at the moment thought so-”

“I didn't really want an explanation, Sherlock.” John laughed. 

“You asked a question.” Sherlock retorted, apparently surprised. 

“Suppose I did.” John sighed, leaning back on his elbows and gazing at the sky. It was a deep obsidian colour, with tiny silver pinpricks dotted around. The sun had disappeared from the sky a long while ago, and the aftermath was superb.   
“Do you think humans will ever go on another planet?” 

“Don't see why not. Probably won't happen in our lifetime, though.” Sherlock reasoned. 

“What about Aliens?” 

Sherlock hummed before giving a response. 

“I'd like to hope so. It'd be nice knowing we're not the only ones in this universe.”

“There's over 7 billion people. I wouldn't say we're exactly alone.”

Sherlock readjusted himself so that he was laying on his side facing John, his head propped up on his elbow. John did the same, mirroring him.

“Yeah, but they're all idiots.”

John blinked as Sherlock waved his arm in the air, as though pointing out all the idiots in the universe.

“You're saying I'm not an idiot?” He smirked slightly.

“We're all a bit idiotic, but you're less of an idiot than most.”

Sherlock leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek before flopping back down to lay on his back, staring at the night sky above. John supposed that that was a compliment, or as near to one as he was ever going to get from Sherlock. He also rolled onto his back, and watched the stars roll across the night sky, shivering from the cold that always came at night. 

He wondered how this had happened. How he'd managed to find himself laying on the beach, on one side an empty bottle of red wine, the glass to go with it and a scrunched up wrapper from the chip shop, all while resting his head against the man on his other side, who'd just declared that he was less of an idiot than most. It was brilliant.

**Author's Note:**

> This is result of me being bored and reminiscing about holidays previously gone, only, without the Sherlock and John element to it. So... Yeah. Hope you enjoyed it. I might continue it? But I'm not sure. Ah well.


End file.
